Starry Configurations
by vanilladietcoke
Summary: hate is closer to love than indifference....but what if you don't even have that-what are you left with?


Pairing: m/m (slash)  
  
Disclaimer: All characters owned by JKR, bits in brackets belong to Jets To Brazil.  
  
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Alone in a dungeon of thoughts, the knife in your pale hand glints as the sunlight catches its breath. How did we get here? Your pale face sighs with the fiery ball as it sets slowly, fading into the horizon. Then golden sky and milky skin together turn crimson, as though being bitten into by a knife. Only one of them is.  
  
And you, only vaguely aware of what you are doing, you feel shy, as though greeting an old friend. Is it really you? Have you really come back for me?  
  
No- it has been there all along. Once again that familiar sense of release washes over you, proceeded by numb. And of course this is what it's really for- the pure abyss that follows.  
  
Sigh, half with self-pity, half with content. Smile grimly as you picture your father's face when he finds out. Not quite what he had planned. Is this fate, then? Why are we so alone? For a moment amnesia flickers and you wonder why and how and for whom you are here. And then you remember.  
  
{Starry Configurations I'm just a reciever  
  
Beautiful surroundings I'm just some gravel/ Why must you treat me like you do?/ Don't you know it's all for you./  
  
Dear infatuation, you do not see me}  
  
Turn the knife over and over in your hand, trying to make sense of it. Stroke it along your arm like a lover, like your intended. Your one and only. Of course now that's impossible. Sigh deeply, like the world is coming to an end, like you haven't a friend in the world. You wonder if Harry knows what it's like to be invisible. You wonder so much about Harry that you have to shake your head to blur all the thoughts that hurt too much, and you have to hug yourself very tightly so that you do not break.  
  
So that you do not remember. But now you force yourself to, even though it hurts more than loving him, more than it hurt every time your heart splintered into remnants of an emotion. Like the remnants of your life, they are long gone. The rose-tinted tears flood from your arm, you watch the pretty pattern they make as they drip onto the cold marble floor. They flooded from your eyes the one solitary time he threw affection your way.  
  
Hate is closer to love than indifference, just like bleeding to death is closer to being loved than Getting Over It.  
  
And how much easier it would have been if you hated him, but that was never the case. Trying to console him over his Loss, hate would've been a fine thing. You were prepared for hate, your cold, glossy exterior set up as usual. Except he was never the type to do the expected, that's one of the things you loved about him. Love.  
  
{Emptiness fills rooms  
  
You don't love me/ Aren't thinking of me tonight/ Why am I waiting for you to see I'm alive?}  
  
How deep would the blade go? Although it would never be deep enough, it's worth a try. The pain sends you flying through the air, weightless. You liken the euphoric feeling to one felt earlier, upon reading Harry's reply. Your letter confessing your infinite, undying love, the one you lost four nights of sleep over, the one that felt like it had your very existence pinned to it as the owl soared away. For a minute there you'd thought that she had got lost, that she couldn't find Harry's dorm, so –that's- why it was returned unopened.  
  
The euphoria dies and the pain comes flooding back, and you drop back down to earth. Of course he read it. Otherwise how else would the note have got there? Magic does not exist any more. Not for you. You reach inside your top pocket, remove the icicle which burns a hole in your heart through the fabric. Stone cold, Harry.  
  
Read it...Go on.  
  
Deep breath, and you remember. "I'm not in the mood for your pathetic jibes or your twisted humour, so I'm not even going to bother with this. Try someone who gives a shit. Harry." You gasp as the blood loss and shock takes you. Try to remain in the right frame of mind, come on. Let's play a game: which hurts more, the wounds on your arm or inside you? Being hated or being ignored?  
  
Living invisibly or dying tangibly?  
  
{Storybook ending,  
  
Hardly worth a mention/ Or the paper it's written on/ And cried upon./ But still you treat me like you do/ With everything I've done for you.}  
  
So what happens now? You've heard your life is supposed to flash before you. Except it doesn't. A few defining moments melt before your eyes into a puddle on the floor. The glint of a promising talent, of a comfortable childhood, of a beautiful ashen boy. Hallucination sets in, you remember your first day at Hogwarts, the first time you cast a successful spell, the first time your father beat you, the first time your mother turned away, the first time you saw Harry. And he returns to you, just for a moment. Except this isn't a hallucination, he's right over there. And all you have to do is get up and walk over to him, but you couldn't even if you wanted to. Do you? What do you want more, one last encounter or eternal peace? Cause and effect. Incident and consequence. Means to an end. Words drift in front of you, then a silhouette brushes them out of your way.  
  
"If this is some kind of a prank, then I can tell you, you're wasting your time and your eff- oh my god, why the hell are you bleeding?"  
  
You smile inwardly and try desperately to compose yourself before your sarcastic retort comes weakly. "Fell on some broken glass". Your last words staying true to your nature, to the icy front you wear.  
  
And Harry is shaking now, his Gryffindor exterior wiped, leaving him bare. He takes your hand, and murmurs, "Goodbye Draco".  
  
The pillow seems to sink a little and you die, with Harry's words echoing in your ear, Harry's flesh touching yours and Harry's attention.  
  
{Why am I waiting for you?  
  
To see I'm alive} 


End file.
